So on Saturday night Farah was in a disco show with the Modesto Symphony (there's a lot going on in that sentence so I'll give you a minute to process that...and yes, Modesto DOES have a symphony!).
My parents and I trekked out to Modesto to support our favorite songstress and once we A) found the damn place and B) walked the half mile or so from our parking spot while also carrying our folding chairs and picnic supplies in the 90 degree heat, we had a lovely time.
I spotted this sign on the walk from the parking lot to the disco picnic. We have no idea what happens in the holt shop, but we're glad to know there is one:
The event was held on the grounds of the E & J Gallo Winery...and if you're familiar with California wineries, they don't tend to be in MODESTO...but I do know that plenty of cheaper wines do actually get their grapes from the central valley so it makes sense. Every winery I've ever been to has been adorable and winery'y but the Gallo winery was more like a very loud, very large wine factory (which isn't surprising given the fact that Gallo is sold in gallon jugs). But on the other side of the industrial vats of wine was a pond and a huge meadow and suddenly, we were no longer in Modesto, but on a really lovely hill surrounded by a few thousand picnickers.
And then the bonus to 90 degree heat is that when the sun goes down it's still a very pleasant 77 degrees. We settled in, I skipped the $10 bottles of Gallo wine and bought the top of the line $18 bottle from some other winery (but that was probably just fancier Gallo wine), and enjoyed the show.
Somewhere toward the end I decided I'd beat the crowd and hike the 750 miles back to my parents' car, bring it around to the front of the venue and then let them drive me back to my car.
I'm a full service daughter, and all.
It was a good plan -- I even got to see the fireworks, just from the parking lot and not in a picturesque setting:
The problem with this strategy was that once I got the car and was headed back to get my parents, I suddenly became the one lone salmon swimming upstream. But you know what? My mom's car is large and I quickly figured out that if you just GO, then the sea of smaller cars will part and BOOM, you'll make it to your destination.
(And then sometimes, when you pick up your parents and they happen to be standing next to a particularly drunk gentleman, your dad might try to sell him a ride for $100 and the drunk gentleman will refuse until he sees that you're the driver, at which point he'll point at you and yell "YOU ARE CUTE!" and then you yell back "I KNOW!" And then your parents get too much of a kick out of it and you have to remind them that "UM HELLO, PARENTS! I *AM* CUTE!!!" and then they'll still blame the alcohol.)
Ma and Pa drove themselves home and I went to Farah's hotel, possibly the only "high rise" (9 floors) in Modesto, and after a good catchup, we set the alarm for 8AM and went to sleep.
[Sidebar: Earlier that day my complex held its annual fire alarm test, which meant that I had to sit there for 45 minutes while the alarm SCREECHED in my ear and wait for the inspectors to come by to verify that yes, my alarm was operational and that yes, my sprinklers worked (the operational fire alarm was obvious, but I have no idea how they could tell that the sprinklers worked).]
So anyway, Farah and I were asleep and then suddenly at 2:30AM there was a SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH! PLEASE EVACUATE! SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH! and I was totally confused because of all the fire alarm excitement I'd already had that day and I couldn't figure out if I was still at home or if it was my phone making that LOUD AND AWFUL NOISE but noooo...there was a man advising me to evacuate and it was all very discombobulating. Farah eventually figured out how to turn on the light (not an easy feat when you're dead asleep and then suddenly in a cacophony of SCREECH! SCREECH! SCREECH!) and we established that no, it was not my phone or her phone...it was an actual alarm telling us to evacuate.
I was confused and disoriented, but not so disoriented that I'd leave the hotel room without a bra and pants, so I organized myself, Farah put more clothes on too, we grabbed our phones and purses and headed out.
On our way down the hall to the stairs, we encountered multiple European tourists popping their heads out of their rooms, some more clothed that others. I'm no linguist, but I think I might have learned "What is going on? Do we have to put our bras on and leave too?" in three different languages that night.
Yes, German lady with the spiked hair, leopard print reading glasses and short little black nightie...you do.
We exited the building with a few hundred fellow hotel guests and waited while three firetrucks and an ambulance did their thang.
Note: Farah, who lives in New York, purposefully opted not to fly home immediately because she didn't want to fly on 9/11 so the DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! FIRE ALARM! EVACUATE! DANGER! wake up call on 9/11 was a particularly nerve-wracking one.
In the end, it was a false alarm. Someone up on the 9th floor kindly pulled the fire alarm as a prank or something, which meant that I was treated to a fashion show of European sleepwear.
BONUS: There were at least two and possibly three wedding-related groups at the Modesto Doubletree that night. Once everyone was in their pajamas they all blended together with the tourists, but my FAVORITE PART was that there was one couple standing outside where the dude was wearing sweatpants and flip flops and the poor chick was still in her party dress and heels...which leads me to believe that she may not have been a registered guest with a suitcase of alternative clothing options.
I think they enjoyed a different kind of fireworks.
Ahem.
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Please keep in mind, Internet, that should we ever be in Jamba Juice together and I happen to notice a poster for the previous night's event that has your picture on it, I'll probably ask you to strike a very serious pose next to the print-you and then post it on the internet.
But don't you worry Internet...you don't have to be a celebrity at Jamba Juice for the real VIP moment -- a picture on my parents' stoop -- but you DO have to be someone special.
Discombobulating and cacophony in back-to-back sentences. Very impressive.
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